


Shoelaces and Saviors

by counterheist



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, but like, france abuse, germany and spain are both dull crayons, i realize how that could sound now, ish, loving abuse, veneziano is a little evil on the inside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-30
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counterheist/pseuds/counterheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15068.html?thread=42589916#t42589916">From the kink meme</a>. Sometimes the Italy brothers fail at life. If you replace 'sometimes' with 'all the time'. Just look at all the times Germany and Spain have had to bail them out of trouble! Except... is all that really true?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoelaces and Saviors

They were doing it all _wrong_. Italy Veneziano had to turn away and mourn for the soul of the poor car Germany’s people were currently fixing. He knew they had to be trying, they had to be, but couldn’t they do it with a little more _finesse_? Veneziano ached to roll up his sleeves and shove the humans out of his way. He could get the engine purring in no time. He knew he could.

Germany didn’t know that he could, and it was Germany’s people and Germany’s shop so Veneziano respected Germany’s decision not to bother the mechanics and to instead take a brisk walk around the block. Veneziano often took brisk walks ( _and early runs_ ) for Germany. If that wasn’t love then nothing was.

The two of them had been on a road trip together. A silly little something suggested by Germany ( _it had to have come out of a book_ ), that Veneziano had been all for. Spending time with Germany? For days at a time? Without any running? It had sounded like a dream, especially when Veneziano thought about the chances of backseat ‘siestas’. ( _Germany liked leather, didn’t he? Veneziano had made sure they’d taken a car with leather seats…_ )

Four hours of travel before the sad spluttering sound of the engine dying hadn’t been ideal, but Veneziano could always find a bright side. He was still with Germany. He wasn’t looking at the mechanics anymore, so he didn’t feel that tiny little ache in his heart from the way they were treating _his_ car. And sometimes, if Veneziano thought quickly enough, he could distract Germany from his brisk walks.

The sun was high in the sky. It wasn’t quite siesta time yet, but after his bad morning, Veneziano could use a pick-me-up.

“Germany, ve, look.” He stopped on the sidewalk, pointed down at his shoelaces and pouted, doing his level best to look both fragile, needy and unsure.

Germany was caught like a fish ( _though whether because of a need to instill order in everything he was able to or because of a desire to save Veneziano from any discomfort, Veneziano wasn’t sure_ ). He bent over quickly, and began to efficiently tie Veneziano’s shoelaces into a proper double knot. He may or may not have hummed while he worked.

Veneziano didn’t know for sure because he was too busy savoring the moment. Did Germany honestly think he didn’t know how to tie his own shoes? Him? The entire north of Italy? Not know about _shoes_?

Please.

Obviously he let his shoelaces trail on the ground to get the rare opportunity to stare unimpeded at Germany’s ass. Veneziano could be devious when he was given the right opportunities. Because Germany didn’t crouch when he tied Veneziano’s shoelaces. Oh no, that would have been too improper for him; it would have wrinkled his slacks and his carefully starched polo. Instead, Germany bent at the hips, and if Veneziano bent over a little himself, well.

Well.

That was some prime, khaki-covered real estate staring him in the face. Often, Veneziano had to remind himself not to give it a little pat of appreciation. Germany might have been silly enough to think that Veneziano didn’t know simple things like tying his shoes or picking up after himself or beating up on nations who threatened his economic supremacy ( _teehee~_ ), but he wasn’t silly enough not to know a slap on the ass when he felt one.

Not after living with Prussia.

“There.” Germany stood, his task complete, and wiped his hands together. “Please try to keep them knotted for more than an hour this time, Veneziano.”

All good things had to come to an end sometime. “I will, ve, thank you Germany ( _for having such a pert ass_ )!” Veneziano grabbed Germany’s hands and pulled him close for a kiss. “What would I do without you?”

Germany blushed and muttered something about brown paper bags and finding ways out of them. Veneziano didn’t mind it, because he knew the truth of the matter was that without Germany, he’d have to be significantly less silly all of the time, which was boring. He might also have to borrow more of France’s magazines, without the constant source of eye candy that Germany delivered.

Speaking of eye candy, “Ve, Germany, let’s drive to the beach next!” Wait for it…

“Veneziano. Our transportation is still being fixed.” Germany nodded. “You will have to be patient.”

Patient? But why be patient when he could come up with better ideas? “It’s not far; we can walk!”

Veneziano started skipping away before Germany could form any reasoned protest. Of course, Germany had to follow along after him, and soon the repair shop was out of sight. “Veneziano, be careful!”

Germany didn’t _really_ think that he was going to jump into traffic, did he? “Germany, if you don’t want to fall behind…” Veneziano opened his arms and smiled, not because he was happy ( _although he was_ ), not because he wanted Germany to come to him ( _he wanted that too_ ), but because he already knew what was going to happen.

As he rode on Germany’s back to the nearest lake, Veneziano let his bright smile morph into a smirk. He could feel every stretch and strain of Germany’s muscles rubbing against his own as Germany walked. Life was a beautiful thing.

Veneziano could even feel the low rumble of Germany’s voice as he spoke. “We should not stay for too long. The mechanics will worry.”

That was Germany, always staying careful to keep appointments. “Ve, they won’t miss us.” That was a lie. Anyone would worry about them after the amount of time Veneziano planned on being away in some secluded little corner of the beach. But his biased heart remembered those clumsy human hands all over his car, equal parts art and machine, and he let his lie tantalize Germany’s sense of adventure.

Veneziano knew he had one. He had seen what was in those boxes under Germany’s bed…

“I suppose they won’t be done for a while…” Germany was so easy to convince sometimes. Veneziano made sure to hug him harder, and looked forward to an afternoon of naked ‘swimming lessons’ and the mouth-to-mouth that was sure to follow.

\- - - - -

Romano had his eyes closed and his arms crossed under his head. He could hear the sound of the wind moving through the grass around him, and the sound of footsteps approaching. Judging from the pacing and the weight… Romano carefully hid his handgun by tossing it away into a clump of weeds and opened his eyes to stare France straight in the face. The visual confirmed, Romano shouted at the top of his lungs. “Oi! **Spaaaaaaaaain!** ” France cringed and Romano was afraid that’d he’d overdone it; he didn’t want France to leave on his _own_ after all. He lowered his voice a little, for his next scream. “Fuck, Spain, what the hell are you doing? It’s France! _Save me!_ ”

France froze at the answering call that echoed over the otherwise peaceful little field. “I’m coming Roma!” Good. Spain had heard him. If he’d been an idiot enough to get too far away when both could feel that another country was in the area… well, Romano would have had to make the evening extra difficult for him.

He would have also had to threaten France with his gun to get him to go away.

He would have also had to sit through a stupid, heavily accented lecture on letting his criminals influence him too much because of it. Which was as _annoying_ as all fuck because a firearm did not _necessarily_ have anything to do with his obnoxious muffins who thought they were above the law. Because even though Romano and his brother didn’t look it ( _Veneziano especially didn’t look it_ ), they’d had the biggest police force in all of Europe just a few years ago. Why didn’t anyone ever think he was doing work with his guys in the force when they jumped to conclusions, huh? _Huh?!_

 __Shit, that was it. Romano was officially in a bad mood, and unluckily for France, he was a close and easy target. “Spain! He’s touching me!”

France wisely started to run at that, but it was too late. Romano could see Spain’s outline on the horizon getting closer. And France was no match for Spain when he was sprinting and determined.

Watching France get kicked in the chest by a leaping Spain was a beautiful thing. Maybe even more beautiful than watching France get punched in the stomach by Romano’s own fists, because this way Romano didn’t even have to get up. He could just watch Spain lay into one of his best friends from the comfort of the soft ground. “You done yet?”

Spain kicked France again for good measure and gave him an apologetic shrug, because even though France had no business bothering Romano, they were still friends. France shrugged back and limped on towards Monaco, because lingering on any one defeat made certain one’s loss of the war. And romance was a war that France never lost.

“Just a minute,” Spain trotted over as though he hadn’t spent the last five minutes pummeling France into the dirt, and crouched down to put his hands around Romano’s torso. “I’ve got you!” He stood and pulled at the same time, and before Romano knew it he was midair, clutched in Spain’s arms, bridal style.

Spain had trained himself to be numb to any and all protests, but Romano gave one anyway, because otherwise the idiot might get suspicious ( _and because he liked calling Spain names_ ). “Bastard, put me down.”

“No need to pretend to be brave Roma, you just went through something scary!” Spain nuzzled his face against Romano’s neck. Romano wasn’t sure how he did it without falling over. “I’ll take you back to my house, okay?”

Going out with someone like Spain had its perks. “Lunch and a nap?” Other perks included getting Spain to do Romano’s share of Italy’s paperwork. Sure it might have been illegal, but Spain was too stupid to remember the sensitive information for long, and his handwriting was so scraggly no one could make out the important extra fine print Romano made him copy into the documents before it was too late.

Romano wondered when his bureaucrats would notice the goldfish law.

Spain didn’t answer until he arrived at his house and nudged the door open with his foot rather than let Romano go. “Of course!” He walked about a meter more and finally set Romano down on his kitchen table. “And… as a reward for saving you…” Spain closed his eyes and leaned forward.

The best part of letting Spain ‘save him’ was something Romano would rather put his hands down France’s pants than admit. “Fine.” He closed half the distance between them. “But only because of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick and rough comment box. Maybe I should try to take on a drabble challenge or something to practice short stuff? And some notes (correct me if I messed anything up, this was all done past midnight...):
> 
>  _beating up on nations who threatened his economic supremacy_ : When Veneziano was a mini, he was quite the devious little collection of city states. Especially Venice.
> 
>  _they’d had the biggest police force in all of Europe just a few years ago_ : Google “eurostat” and type “number of police” in the search box. The Italy bros had the biggest police force in Europe in the mid 2000’s. They really cut back in 2007, though. That or the data was bad. Either way, Romano’s had plenty of opportunity to learn marksmanship from his multitude of cops. It doesn’t _have_ to always be the Mafia. Also: having been to Romano's vital regions now, I can confidently say that the Italy bro's cops are decidedly scary. When they say military police, they _mean_ it.
> 
>  _the goldfish law_ : the city of Rome banned goldfish bowls in 2005. You can look at it as concern for animals _or_ you can consider it as a smashed Romano making Spain write down whatever sounds funny on the margins of his official memos and Documents To Be Signed.


End file.
